ࡱ> g )RbjbjJJ 7(ub(ubI+WWWWWkkk8'k%jCCYYYHHH$$$$$$$$q&')b$WHHHHH$WWYY$HWYWY$H$Y,~jr$$0%)"))W>"4HHHHHHH$$HHH%HHHH)HHHHHHHHH : OTHER PEOPLES SHOES: FICTION AND EMPATHY Scarborough Lecture by Marie Manilla, September 30, 2021 When Sylvia Shurbutt first contacted me about the Appalachian Heritage Writer-in-Residence Award, she mentioned that one reason I was selected was that, given the polarized political climate were currently living in, my work might give folks a chance to talk about prejudice in a way that might offer hope for a kinder, gentler world. Thats high praise for this author who has always been drawn to write about issues of race, class, and gender. I can only hope that my work will inspire people to lean into open-mindedness, acceptance, and grace, and indeed, that focus helped Sylvia and me shape my residency theme, which is: Other Peoples Shoes: Fiction and Empathy. Im not sure where my fixation with these issues sprang from, my compassion for marginalized groups and underdogs. Perhaps it was a result of all those Catholic school nuns who routinely reminded us of children suffering around the world. Or maybe it was a result of coming of age in the sixties and seventies when battles for Civil Rights and Womens Rights regularly made the nightly news. I often sat wide-eyed in front of our rabbit-eared TV processing images of Black citizens marching for equality, of women burning bras. They all just wanted an even playing field and a fair shot. I also noted those livid folks on the sidelines hurling the cruelest insults at those marchers and bra burners, throwing rocks, wielding baseball bats, making vile threats. Even as a kid, I knew whose side I was onthe side of inclusion, fairness, and equality. One-hundred-fifty years ago, Mark Twain wrote in Innocents Abroad: Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Broad, wholesome, charitable views of men and things cannot be acquired by vegetating in one little corner of the earth all ones lifetime. Ill add that you dont have to cross international borders to expand your worldview, to ignite compassion and empathy. You dont even have to cross literal borders to enlarge your perspectivebooks can take you there. But physically leaving my birthplace was instrumental in expanding my understanding, not only of the world beyond our state lines, but the complicated little world within our borders too. When I grew up in Huntington, it was pretty white breador more accurately, its that my suburban corner of Huntington was segregated, because red lining was alive and well. There were no Black families in my neighborhood, and very few Black kids in my parochial school. Even fewer members from ethnic communities. So when I moved to Houston for my first post-college job, it was a welcome introduction to diversity, but it was eye-opening in other regards, too. As I discussed last night in my Writing Life talk, it was in Houston that I understood just how pervasive the stereotypes about West Virginians are by certain folks beyond our borders. All those backward, dim-witted, hillbilly barbs were alive and well, and I was often grilled about what they assumed were our dismal lives back in West Virginia, as if we were a third-world country. It was also in Houston that I began to understand the weight that many West Virginians carry as a result of all that belittling, the sense of cultural loathing that makes us feel less-than, perhaps even undeserving, and that makes many of us want to flee the state. When I moved to Texas my co-workers were from Vietnam, Poland, Mexico, Puerto Rico. I loved the diversity, and I loved learning about the Latinx culture: the melodic language and salsa music, the spicy food and brightly painted houses. What I didnt love was learning about the social pecking order in Houston that put Latinx folks at the very bottom. All those wetback and beaner jokes made me cringe as a woman from Appalachia who had been the butt of so many derogatory hillbilly jokes. Back then, most of the menial jobs in Houston were performed by Latinx men and women, many of whom had fled war-torn countries to find a better life. In fact, Auxiliadora, the woman who cleaned the office building where I worked, had been a teacher back in Guatemala, but she quit after the government wanted her to teach the children how to count using pictures of bullets and tanks instead of apples and bananas so they would be indoctrinated into a militaristic regime. The sadness in Auxiliadoras eyes as she relayed her story had a great effect on me, and when I began writing fiction, I felt moved to tell her story, or at least a fictionalized version of it in a short story called Amnesty. That might have been the first time I slipped into the shoes of someone whose experience was decidedly not mine. I had to research the Guatemalan Civil War and the displacement of refugees. And because it wasnt my experience, I felt a tremendous sense of responsibility to get it rightor at least as right as I could. It took five years to write that one story, and its still a personal favorite. Soon after, I learned about the Crystal City internment camp in Texas that held Japanese, Italian, and German-American citizens during World War II. As I researched, I discovered the history of Japanese Latin Americans, JLAsfolks who had immigrated to various Latin American countries from Japan decades before and who were now land and business owners. Their children were born in Latin America and grew up speaking Spanish, not Japanese. After the bombing of Pearl Harbor, the U.S. negotiated to have those JLAs extradited to Crystal City and other internment camps. This was such an astounding and shameful piece of history that I felt compelled to write about it in a short story called Crystal City. For the story, I slipped into the shoes of a fictional woman who had been born in the internment camp to JLA parents, thus she is an American citizen, though her older sisters, born in Peru, are not. This was another opportunity for me to explore the experiences of displaced persons, and also the loss of culture, since, after the war, my main character becomes completely Americanized, even as her sisters try to reclaim their Japanese heritage. As a writer, living inside the skins of both of those characters, one from Guatemala, one of Japanese descent, opened my worldview tremendously and truly ignited my compassion for their experiences. Ive also slipped into the skins of men in my fiction. I once wrote a story from the point-of-view of a clinically obsessive-compulsive man from Texas whose wife is leaving him and taking their daughter back to her home in West Virginia. It was an opportunity for me to explore what it must feel like to be a man who is losing everything, especially the daughter he desperately wants to protect from what he perceives as a dangerous world. But his extreme OCD behaviors have physically harmed his daughter, and he ultimately realizes she might be safer living near the Greenbrier Resort where theres that secret bunker where she can shelter in case of nuclear attack. I also wrote about a Galveston ambulance driver who was responsible for a car wreck that resulted in a woman existing in a vegetative state. His guilt over this leaves him unable to work, or to sustain the marriage he never really wanted. I was going through a divorce at the time I wrote both of those stories, which may have had something to do with slipping into the skins of men whose marriages were crashing and burning. Perhaps I was trying to conjure up some compassion for my ex-husbanda deeply wounded soul. One of the longest periods I spent living inside the skin of a male character was when I wrote my novel, Shrapnel, whose main character, Bing Butler, couldnt be more unlike me. Hes a seventy-seven-year-old, right-wing, WWII veteran from Texas. Hes also, sadly, a racist, sexist, homophobe. His daughter Susie marries a man from West Virginia and they both wind up teaching at Marshall. Now a widower, Bing finally submits to moving in with Susie, though they never got along, since shes a Feminazi, in his view, who may or may not have been fashioned after me. In addition, Bings head is filled with all the West Virginia stereotypes you can imagine, and thats exactly what he expects to encounter when he moves to Huntington, but thats not the West Virginia he finds. The novel was an opportunity to take on those stereotypesto explode many, and to confirm a few. As I was writing the novel, though, I discovered that I was doing to Bing exactly what had been done to me and many West Virginians. I had turned him into a caricature, a two-dimensional stereotype. He was the butt of a lot of my jokes. Thankfully, after reading an early draft, a trusted beta reader said: I understand where youre coming from, but do you respect Bing? I had to admit that I didnt, and this was a real eye opener. I had reduced Bing to a punchline, something I hated when it was being done to me. Thats when I knew I had to excavate my compassion for the man and dig deeper to get to the source of all his isms: the racism and sexism and homophobia. Once I did, I realized that his isms were fear-based. Here was this elderly white man whod been at the top of the food chain, but hes losing power fast, and that scares the crap out of him. Lucky for Bing, his journey to West Virginiawhich might as well be another country in his viewdid exactly what Mark Twain had hoped. It opened Bings worldview and mind. It made him more willing to offer, and receive, grace, and he is a better man for the journey. In The Patron Saint of Ugly, I also got to explore my favorite themes of race, class, and gender. The main character, Garnet, winds up being an agent of change by offering her grandmother and aunt a way out from under the heavy hand of their patriarchal husbands. Garnet also mends relationships with the Black side of her family, and breaks the class ceiling when she moves her kin into the mansion atop the hill. But something else is happening inside Garnet, who had always been an outcast because of her birthmarks and her hit-or-miss healing abilities. The adult Garnet doesnt want to be considered a healer. She doesnt want to be considered a saint, and part of that may be her own sense of cultural loathing as a result of being a West Virginian, a state whose people have suffered relentless dehumanizing and othering over the years. Indeed, one skeptic in the novel asks: Can anything good come out of West Virginia? Though Garnet is snarky about the snobbery her Virginia-born Grandma has about West Virginia, Garnet is not immune to all that belittling. Maybe she doesnt want to be considered a saint because she doesnt feel worthy of being one. So many West Virginians carry that weight, too. Ultimately, though, by the novels end, Garnet opens up her home to the pilgrims she has been avoiding throughout the novel, and perhaps she is opening up to the possibility that she is worthy of being called a saint, and more important, like Bing Butler in Shrapnel, she is worthy of offering and receiving love and grace. Now I want to broach a tricky subject, which is the issue of cultural appropriation as it concerns the novel I spent seven years writing after Patron Saint, but one I ultimately pulled the plug on. Set in a fictional West Virginia town, the novel follows the very founding of the town to its demise one-hundred-fifty years later as a result of loss of industry, as well as the drug addiction that overran the cityan all-too-common phenomenon in so many little West Virginia towns. For the novel, I wanted to explore all those issues I so dearly love: race, class, and gender, so though later generations consider the town founders snooty, wealthy landowners, in reality, the town-founding mother, Dorinda, was a runaway slave passing as white, and the town-founding father, was a white woman passing as a man. I follow Dorindas lineage through her dark-skinned son stolen at birth, thus I slip into the shoes of a series of Black men over those one-hundred-fifty years. In addition, because I was blurring the lines of sexual identity, in the present day of the novel, the main character is a transgender woman. When I began writing the novel nearly a decade ago now, the issue of cultural appropriation wasnt at the forefront of conversations in the cis, white world, though Im sure heated discussions were going on within marginalized groups. In my smug naivet it never occurred to me that Black and transgender folks might not want me telling their stories, that perhaps I didnt have a right to tell them. It never occurred to me that Auxiliadora, the Guatemalan woman who cleaned our office building, might not want me appropriating her story, or that Japanese Latin Americans might be offended by me coopting their experience and pain. But I did, and maybe thats white privilegefeeling that we have the right to tell anyones story. During the writing of the novel, the issue of cultural appropriation began taking center stage and I grappled with whether or not I had the right to slip into these characters shoes, especially as the issue became more and more heated. My initial solution was to try to write these characters as compassionately and authentically as possible. I even reached out to a transgender woman who has a gigantic national platformlike New York Times column big. Though she didnt read the novel, her response to me was direct and honest. She warned that members of the transgender community were tired of cis writers, even well-meaning ones, co-opting their stories, and they were ready to circle the wagons and put up a fight. I should mention that this was all going on at the same time the novel American Dirt by Jeanine Cummins was coming out. The novel is about a Mexican woman who flees the country with her son and heads to the U.S. for a better life. Cummins came under intense fire, and even received death threats, over issues of racial and cultural appropriation. Cummins is neither Mexican nor an immigrant, though she is of Puerto Rican and Irish descent. Writers stand on both sides of this issue, and indeed, everyone has to make up their own minds. Some, like writer Zadie Smith, encourage writers to slip into the skins of whoever will best tell the story, because thats what writers doat least historically. In 2019, author Colson Whitehead made cultural appropriation the focus of his AWP keynote address. His advice: You can write about anything, just dont fuck it up. Ive always strived to do my best when crafting characters who are not me. Its the human experience I want to explore, and as you already know, Im drawn to write about marginalized folks, be they refugees or folks within our borders who have been othered. Still, I expressed my fears to the press that was going to publish the novel, so they agreed to find two sensitivity readers to look it over. Sensitivity readers are members from marginalized groups represented in a book, though even the term sensitivity reader is being scrutinized. Carolina de Robertis, an Uruguayan-American author, tweeted: Yes! Im all in with sensitivity readers, but the term authenticity readers better centers the marginalized: the problem isnt that readers are being (too) sensitive, but that authors portrayals can fail to be authentic. Cultural humility is part of our work. Or should be. And heres another of her tweets: The problem is authors are not being authentic on how they are writing culture and we need to know where our blinders are. I couldnt agree more, and Im grateful to my beta reader who pointed out my blinders when crafting the character of Bing Butler in Shrapnel. Im also grateful to the authenticity readers for the novel I pulled the plug on. The Black reader was enormously encouraging even as she pointed out areas that I now see were my presentations of Black people filtered through my white gaze. The transgender reader was blessedly blunt in pointing out areas where was I ham-handed in my language to the point of offensiveness. Particularly with the transgender reader, I understood just how much pain (and anger) appropriation can cause. Based on their comments, I had to admit that I obviously wasnt getting it right. I just wasnt. Clearly, I was fucking it up. If writers are going to slip into anothers shoes, we have an obligation to get it right. As Carolina de Robertis tweeted: Cultural humility is part of our work. And I was deeply, deeply humbled. Though the novel may never be published, that doesnt mean it was a failed project. It was a growth opportunity for me, a way into compassion and empathy, especially for members of the transgender communityand thats a good thing, because out of all fifty states, West Virginia has the highest percentage of transgender teens. And our transgender children could sure use some love right now. Pulling the plug on that novel doesnt mean I wont explore experiences that are not my own in future writing, and it doesnt mean I wont go back to it some day with more-informed eyes, but Ill be triply sensitive when and if I do. But right now, there is a glorious awakening to all the varied voices out there. People of color, and members of the LGBTQ+ communities, are finally having their voices heard, their stories published and celebrated, and that is a beautiful, beautiful thing. As Sylvia and I discussed several months ago, our country is deeply polarized right now, torqued by politicians and religious leaders and news outlets all along the political spectrum. Were all being indoctrinated to mistrust the other, to dehumanize those with opposing views. Many of us have chosen a side, pitched a tent, planted a flag. For some, the rift is in part fear-based coupled with the misguided notion that for certain folks to get equality, other groups have to lose theirs. Its a view Bing Butler in my novel Shrapnel held until the folks he met in West Virginia opened up his worldview and ignited his compassion. Its not easy right now to find empathy for those we dont agree with, and I confess that Ive struggled with this mightily over the last few years. But as a writer, and a human, I have to try and delve deeper into the folks whose views differ from mine and find out where they are truly coming from. Is it fear? If so, what are you so afraid of. Is it anger? If so, are you sure youre angry at the right people? And I should ask those same questions of myself. If we could tune out the inflaming news shows and divisive fearmongers for a while and have those discussions without all the partisan vitriol, one-on-one, neighbor to neighbor, sister to brother, perhaps even sparked by a world created in a book, maybe we can find a path to that kinder, gentler, inclusive world we all so desperately, desperately need.      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